TAMPA — Edd Roush lived and breathed baseball until the day he died. Literally.
Roush, a Hall of Famer who was a member of the 1919 Cincinnati Reds in the infamous Black Sox scandal World Series, died on March 21, 1988. The longtime resident of Bradenton was attending a Pittsburgh Pirates exhibition game when the 94-year-old suddenly took ill.
“He passed away on the ball field,” said Dr. Susan Dellinger, Roush’s granddaughter and author of “Red Legs and Black Sox: Edd Roush and the Untold Story of the 1919 World Series.” She noted that in retirement, “he went to all the games. He had a heart attack at that game. The ambulance picked him up and took him right through center field. And the Pirates had to be wondering who that heck was that old guy! A Hall of Famer, that’s who!”
“That man” — who lived in Bradenton initially as a winter home starting in 1952, till his death — was the last living participant in the 1919 World Series that shook baseball to its core. The Reds’ opponent, the Chicago White Sox, were influenced by gamblers and were said to have thrown the World Series. Eventually eight of their players, including Shoeless Joe Jackson, were banned from Major League Baseball forever.
“That man” was one of the greatest players of all-time, his career spanning from 1913-1931, mostly with the Reds. A center fielder who hit for high average, .323 overall, Roush was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown in 1962, alongside that year with Jackie Robinson, Bob Feller and Bill McKechnie.
Dellinger has many fond memories of her grandfather, to whom she was very close. Her book, which was published several years back, covers her grandfather’s personal and professional history. These days, she continues to speak to groups of people and organizations about Roush. A longtime member of SABR (Society of American Baseball Research - the Tampa Bay chapter is in fact named Roush-Lopez), Dellinger loves talking about her grandfather and frequently is asked to do so.
While Roush’s own history is extremely impressive, the 1919 World Series is what generates most of the attention during her presentations.
“He came to Cincinnati in the middle of 1917 with Bill McKechnie in a trade from the Giants,” said Dellinger, who resides in Hillsborough County. “In 1919 they were a very close team and started to click. They were doing great, winning everything. They won the pennant and Cincinnati went crazy.”
The White Sox were loaded, but the Reds were confident — even as the rumors circulated.
“Yeah, granddad got wind of something but didn’t believe it at first,” she said. “Something rotten going on. Granddad just said ‘Who knows? You hear everything around a World Series. We’re out there to win. We knew we could beat them anyway, no question.’” Eventually, however, the Reds all knew something was going on.
The Reds won the Series 5 games to 3, even as the rumors intensified.
Still, “They thought they won it fair and square,” said Dellinger, who has authored four other books including “Psycho Geometrics,” another concept that she frequently speaks to groups about.
So did a lot of people and with good reason. That 1919 team, led by Roush’s league-leading .333 batting average, was a scrappy squad. “They had what you’d call the X factor,” said his granddaughter. “It wasn’t so much let’s get a home run. A single is great. It was let’s get a guy on base, a lot of bunting, get the bases loaded.”
Soon enough, there was a trial and although the players involved seemed like they got off the hook at first, the new Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Landis saw it otherwise and banned eight players from Major League Baseball for life.
Roush felt the punishment was justified, even in the case of Jackson, who drew sympathy from some as being snickered into the plot.
Dellinger explains that her grandfather, “said if anybody throws a baseball game for any reason they don’t deserve to be in the Hall of Fame. It includes Pete Rose and of course the men from the White Sox. They knew what they were doing. Joe Jackson found $5,000 under his pillow and he admitted it. He was one hell of a ballplayer though. He probably would have been in the Hall of Fame.”
In addition to his ties to the 1919 World Series and his time in the major leagues, Roush, who was originally signed by the White Sox, ironically, also played in the Federal League, a two-year startup league that didn’t last in the mid-1910s. Upon his death he was also the last surviving player from that league.
The two-time National League batting champion swung a huge 48-ounce bat with pizzazz. He credited his ability to swing such a huge piece of lumber due to the strength in his wrists from milking cows twice a day growing up on the family’s Indiana farm. Despite the big bat, Roush didn’t look for the home run. He was a contact hitter, bunted often and never struck out more than 25 times in a season. Yet, he could also hit with power. He clubbed 182 triples in his career and reportedly smacked 30 inside-the-park homers (out of 68 total). He knew how to swipe a base, too, accumulating 268 of them.
Roush was no slouch when it came to his contracts. He was tough on ownership and did quite well. Several times he held out for more money at a time when most players wouldn’t even consider such a thing.
Susan Dellinger had many personal memories of her grandfather, as well, including attending Baseball Hall of Fame induction ceremonies, in particular in 1962. Her son, Jade, also shares many great memories.
“I spent a tremendous amount of time with him in Bradenton,” said Jade Dellinger. Late in his great-grandfather’s life, his eyes failing, Jade would help Roush with fan mail. “It became a thing with us,” said Jade, who was 19 when Roush died. “I would get there and there would be a pile of unanswered fan mail. I’d read them to him and respond for him. Sometimes they’d want something autographed. You could tell some were from dealers but there were a lot of sincere letters.”
As an 8-year-old in the mid-’70s, Jade didn’t really comprehend who his great-grandfather was. Not until he went with the family for a Cooperstown induction ceremony weekend did he start to get it.
“We were making our way to the Hall of Fame and he got pulled away for interviews,” said Jade. “While he was doing his thing we got a tour through all these displays and trophies and then we got to one about him. There were his sliding pads, dirty cleats, bat and maybe a ball cap. As a kid I am thinking what is so important about all this stuff. This is his dirty clothes!”
As it turned out not only did Jade start to understand that his great-grandfather was somebody extra special, but the visit to the museum set him on a path to curate not baseball but artwork. For many years he has been the director of Exhibitions and Collections at Florida Southwestern State College in Fort Myers, where he also runs the Bob Rauschenberg Gallery.
Roush played at a time when small ball was a way of life on the ballfield, one run at a time, make the other team make mistakes and capitalize, good pitching and don’t rely on the home run. Sound familiar?
“He would like the Rays!” said Dellinger. “He really would. He didn’t like the way teams are all trying to get home runs and he also hated the way pitchers would stand on the mound and try to look good, making sure the cameras were on them.”
In 1970, just as the Big Red Machine days were coming, as part of the team’s 100-year anniversary, Roush was considered the Greatest Red of All-Time. One hundred years of baseball, lots of great players in all that time — and Roush was the best.
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